


rub one out

by simplyclockwork



Series: oh captain, my captain [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aggressive John Watson, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, Captain John Watson, Deepthroating, Dominance, Edging, Face-Fucking, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Maybe sub/dom?, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pleading, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Roleplay, Rough Oral Sex, Roughness, Rutting, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Whining, authority kink, much swearing, soldier kink, submissive Sherlock, thigh grinding, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Captain John Watson teaches his Private a lesson.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: oh captain, my captain [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740022
Comments: 32
Kudos: 205





	rub one out

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure about those sub/dom tags, lemme know what you think.

They barely make it half a block before John grabs at him. 

“I need you. I can’t wait. God, how I want you.” His words a strangled gasp, he claims Sherlock’s lips with his own, biting hard on his tongue, sucking and licking until their mouths connect in a wet mess. The slick press weakens Sherlock’s knees, his hands shaking where they clutch at John’s shoulders. He sags, the soldier lifting and pulling him into a narrow alley. With his back to a hard brick wall, the sidewalk a faint glimpse down the thin opening between two buildings, Sherlock melts beneath John’s kisses. Feeling his pulse thudding in his swollen lips, he pulls in a quick snatch of air before John is moaning into his mouth and coaxing Sherlock’s tongue past John’s lips. 

“Captain…” he breathes weakly, slumped against the wall, John’s body propping him up in place. “Oh, John.” John’s ravenous mouth moves over his jaw, neck, and throat, imprinting the mark of his teeth over flushed skin. 

“You’re so bloody gorgeous, you know that?” John pants the praise against his collarbone, sucking a bruise over the sharp ridge. “Fuck me, how are you even real?” Still spouting adoration and disbelief, John fumbles with Sherlock’s trousers, trying to slip the button. His hands shake with need, and before he can get the placket open, Sherlock is turning them both. John’s back presses to the wall, and Sherlock goes to his knees. John’s confused protests cut out as Sherlock tugs the zipper of his jeans down. “Oh, god, _yes,”_ John growls, head rolling against the bricks.

Folding the front of John’s jeans back, revealing the blue pants beneath, Sherlock tilts forward, pressing his face against John’s crotch. He mouths at hard flesh through the thin fabric, and John’s hips buck forward immediately, his cock already filled and twitching. Sherlock groans at the feeling of it against his lips, tracing the thick length with his tongue. His spit soaks into John’s pants, darkening the material and making the soldier shiver.

“Oh, fuck, Sherlock. Fuck, fuck, you beautiful fucking cocktease, _yes.”_ Words choked by arousal, John fists his hands in Sherlock’s hair. “God, I love how you look on your knees,” he whispers, looking down at Sherlock from under half-open eyes. 

Sherlock wraps his lips around the outline of John’s cock by way of response, suckling at the tip through the blue pants. John’s legs shake, and he braces his hands against the wall to stay upright. 

“That face should be illegal,” he grinds out through a clenched jaw. Eyes flashing, pupils huge and blown, he orders, “Take it out. I’m going to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Sherlock whimpers, eagerly hurrying to comply. He tugs John’s jeans and pants a little down his thighs, just enough to free his cock. It springs out, thick and heavy, the tip glistening. Swallowing hard, Sherlock glances up at John, mouth hovering inches from the head. Staring down at him, face flushed, John tilts his hips forward, letting his cock drag against Sherlock’s chin to his lips, leaving a slick, smeared trail of precum in its wake. Sherlock’s tongue flicks out, tasting, the action making John’s fingers return to his hair in a two-handed grip.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, voice rough and unsteady. He sounds like a man unravelling, his entire body trembling. Sherlock obliges, lips parting as John guides his cock between them. His mouth stretches wider and wider, throat closing before he forces it to relax with a modicum of choking. The head slips against his hard palate, drawing a loud groan from John and a huff from Sherlock. “Oh, that feels good.” John kneads at his scalp, tugging slowly at Sherlock’s curls. “That feels _so damn good.”_ Eyes closed, he rolls his head against the brick wall and grunts, cock pushing to the back of Sherlock’s throat. 

Sherlock works to relax the muscles, swallowing with spit flooding his mouth. Looking up at John, he wraps his fingers around his thighs, tugging. John takes the hint and pushes forward, a minute twitch of his hips that butts the head of his cock against the back of Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock swallows again, making John’s eyes roll back.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Baby...sweetheart...gorgeous, fucking, sodding hell, you beautiful bastard.” The words spill from John’s lips in a rush of nonsense, praise and endearments melding with curses. His hips jerk back and forward again, thrusting into Sherlock’s hot mouth, hard, spit-slick flesh stretching his lips wide. When he hums low in his throat, John shudders, muscles tensing and clenching. His grip tightens, pulling Sherlock’s hair hard enough to make his eyes water. He blinks away the tears and doubles down, sucking with enough force to make John shout above him, body jerking reflexively. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, oh, Sherlock, _fuuuckk.._. I’m close, I’m so close. Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Taking advantage of John’s momentary daze, Sherlock slides back, lips moving up the length of John’s cock. Before John falls over the edge, before he can fill Sherlock’s mouth and throat with cum, Sherlock slows everything down. His tongue curves along the veiny underside of John’s cock as he leans away.

“Oh my god!” John snaps, drawing Sherlock’s eyes up to take in his red, furious face. “Oh my god, you fucking tease, you brilliant _little cocktease.”_ Smirking, Sherlock puckers his lips, suckling lightly at the head of his cock. John frees one hand from a tangle of curls, smacking his palm hard to the wall. “I can’t believe you just…” Sherlock’s tongue pushes against the slit, tasting precum and salt, and John’s words shudder to a stop. Arm thrown over his eyes, breathing loudly through his teeth, he snarls out, “Oh, gorgeous, you _really_ shouldn’t tease me like that.”

Sherlock’s eyes flick upward. With his lips too preoccupied for another smirk, he lifts an eyebrow, a clear, taunting challenge. Eyes narrowed, John bares his teeth in a shark-like grin, arm falling back to his side.

“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” he hisses. Gripping Sherlock by the hair again, he wrenches his head back. “I’m going to fuck that mouth until you can’t talk anymore, and then I’m going to cum down your throat.” John’s eyes flash with a fierce light, the sight making Sherlock tremble. When he doesn’t answer, mouth still occupied with John’s cock, his tongue laving over the length, John tugs his hair. “You understand?”

Sherlock tries to nod, but John holds his head in place, restricting movement. He blinks once instead, John picking up the meaning instantly.

“Good boy,” he breathes and, taking Sherlock’s face in his hands, he pushes his cock all the way past his lips in a hard slide. 

Choking, Sherlock’s eyes water, spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Breathing hard through his nose, blinking quickly and fighting with his gag reflex, he finally gets his body back under control. This time, John doesn’t bother to take it slow. There is no gentle build-up, just the brutal thrusting of his cock into Sherlock’s mouth, the punishing press of the head against the back of Sherlock’s throat. Grunting low in his chest, his own cock achingly hard against the front of his trousers, he reaches between his legs to palm himself, desperate for stimulation. 

John’s foot shifts forward, finding Sherlock’s hand and shoving it away. Sherlock’s irate cry dies in his throat, smothered by John’s cock. 

“Don’t.” John’s voice is harsh, a command that brokers no chance for argument, even if Sherlock had been able. “If you touch yourself, I’ll make you beg for it afterward.” Sherlock trembles, struggling to obey. But, as John continues to thrust into his mouth, bruising the soft flesh of his throat, it’s nearly impossible to follow the order. His hand returns, sliding between his thighs to touch himself with shaking fingers, and John growls down at him.

“Are you disobeying a direct order, private?” Holding Sherlock’s head still, he shoves his foot between Sherlock’s legs, crowding the hand away. Sherlock whines around the cock in his mouth, his face twisting with agonized desperation. He shakes his head, eyes wide, even as he rocks himself against John’s boot with another pathetic whine.

“Oh, you’ll regret that,” John promises. His hips snap forward, harder, faster, and Sherlock closes his eyes to focus on softening his throat. “I’m going to come now, and you’re going to take it all, alright?” At Sherlock’s nod, he says, “Open your eyes.” Sherlock does, and John stares hard down at him. “ _All of it_ , you hear me? If you miss just one drop, you don’t get to cum.” Sherlock whimpers at the threat, but the sound is cut short as John picks up the pace again. He thrusts once, twice, three, four times before coming with a shout muffled against his fist, teeth pressing into the knuckles. 

His cock pulses, flooding Sherlock’s mouth with bitter semen. Sherlock swallows quickly, heart thundering in his chest and ears, striving not to miss a single drop. He barely manages, wrapping his lips around the end of John’s cock and slurping up the last dribbles while John’s tremours begin to dwindle. 

When John slips entirely from his mouth, Sherlock’s throat aches, and he gasps for air, panting loudly. Looking up at John, watching the soldier tuck himself back into his pants, Sherlock’s own cock throbs with need. Contained, cramped in his tight trousers, the discomfort is terrible, making him want to keen. 

“John,” he whispers, clearing his throat when his voice nearly fails. “Please, John.” 

Doing up his zip, John raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” he says, tone stern. “Did you just address a superior officer by name? Do you _want_ to be punished, private?”

Sherlock’s eyes drop to the ground, body quivering with lust at the unexpected roleplaying and his painfully neglected erection. “No, sir,” he says softly. 

John steps forward, his boot sliding back between Sherlock’s bent legs. The toe brushes his cock through his trousers, and Sherlock bites down on his tongue to keep from crying out. He flicks a quick look toward the end of the alley, but they are still alone and unobserved, and he looks back to John’s face. John’s expression is stiff, rigid, and he swallows loudly.

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you, private.” 

“No, Captain Watson,” Sherlock gasps, eyes flying wide as John rubs his boot against Sherlock’s crotch. He feels his cock twitch, leaking liberally in response. “I meant no disrespect, Captain.”

“Mmm, I bet you didn’t.” John shifts his foot closer. Sherlock grinds against it with a pathetic sound drifting from his swollen lips, eyes closing in a pained grimace. 

“Please, sir,” he whispers, voice quivering. “I need...I need…” he shakes his head, rasping voice failing as his cock rubs against the hard edge of John’s boot. 

“I don’t care what you need, private.” Sherlock winces, moaning helplessly. “You’ll take what I give you. Do you understand?” When Sherlock fails to reply fast enough, John barks, “Do you understand?”

Nodding, eyes wide and pleading, Sherlock rocks his hips, desperate for friction, for pressure, for _anything_. His cock leaks and leaks, his lower lip quivering. 

“What do you have to say, then?” John asks, brows rising. He stands over Sherlock with his legs spread, one foot still planted between Sherlock’s sloppily rolling hips. 

“I’ll take anything, sir! Please, Captain Watson, _please!”_

Smirking, John reaches down and wraps his fingers around Sherlock’s biceps, pulling him to his feet. Sherlock goes, nearly sobbing with relief, legs shaking after kneeling for so long. He’s barely aware that he’s rambling, babbling pleas for more, for John’s cock, his mouth, his hand, absolutely anything at all, he’ll take whatever he can get, just, _please._

When they’re finally level, John pushes Sherlock’s feet apart, ignoring how Sherlock grabs him with needy hands. Sherlock frowns, confused, as John slides his leg between Sherlock’s. 

“There you go,” he says quietly, eyes sharp on Sherlock’s face. At Sherlock’s dumbfounded stare, he smirks. “That’s it, that’s all you get.” He pushes up with his leg, bouncing Sherlock on his thigh. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh. So—get to it, private.”

Recovering slowly from his surprise, Sherlock drops his hands to his trousers, fumbling with shaking fingers to free himself from the constriction. When he goes to push down his pants as well, John’s hands cover his, stopping him. Sherlock looks up from his trousers with disbelief. 

“What—” he begins, but John presses a finger to his mouth, silencing him.

“Hush, private. You come in your pants or not at all.” He taps the tip of his finger to Sherlock’s bottom lip with a hard smile. “Unless you’d rather argue?” His face darkens, voice dropping. “Maybe I should leave you like this. Hmm? Teach you a lesson. Then anyone could come along and have their way with you. What do you think? You like that idea?”

Sherlock shivers, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No, Captain Watson,” he whispers. John’s finger is replaced by his lips, kissing Sherlock slowly, tenderly before he breaks the contact.

“Good lad.” He shoves Sherlock’s trousers down, arranging Sherlock’s jacket to cover them from any curious passerby before pushing his leg back between Sherlock’s. “Mm, I like this coat. Very useful.” Patting Sherlock’s bum, his expression hardens. “Now, get to it, private. I haven’t got all damn day.” 

Gasping, Sherlock bows his head, resting the crown on John’s shoulder. His hips begin to rock, cock rubbing over the rough terrain of John’s jeans-covered thigh. The friction is too much, not enough, better than nothing, and Sherlock shivers with the oversensitivity of the sensations. He needs more, is aching for more, and drowns his ravenous whines in John’s shoulder. Biting into the fabric of John’s jacket, Sherlock seethes and writhes, breath stuttering with every hard grind against John’s thigh. After nearly a minute of gainless rutting, he grinds his teeth and howls through his gritted jaw, body suffering from its need for release. 

To his gasping relief, John takes pity on him. His hands find, grab and tighten on Sherlock’s hips, pulling him closer. The proximity helps, applying sought-after pressure, but it’s still not enough, and he squirms, biting at his own lips with blind lust. 

John’s voice rumbles in his ear, followed by the slick touch of his tongue. “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

The words send a sharp jolt up Sherlock’s spine. Mouth opening wide around a broken, desperate sob, he claws at John’s arms, nodding quickly, eagerly. “Yes, oh, yes, please, _please_ touch me, Joh—Captain Watson, touch me, touch me, touch me!” It becomes a chant, Sherlock repeating himself as he rubs over John’s thigh, nearly drooling at the possibility of having John’s hands on him.

“I can’t hear you, private. What did you say?” John’s voice is dark and amused. It makes Sherlock growl, nails digging into the thick material of John’s coat.

“ _Please_ , Captain! Oh my _god_ , touch me. I swear to God, I am going to die if you don’t fucking touch me.” 

John’s chuckle is low in his ear. “That’s pretty dramatic, private. Are you sure it’s that serious?”

“Yes!” Sherlock groans, shaking his head, sweat running over his closed eyes, plastering curls to his skin. “Aren’t you an army-doctor? For the love of—save a dying man!”

John’s deep growl sends shivers up his body, goosebumps rising on his arms and legs in response. “Very well, private. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” 

To Sherlock’s relief, John’s hand slips inside his open trousers, past the hanging tails of his dress shirt, and dips beneath his waistband. When his fingers brush the hot, swollen flesh of Sherlock’s aching cock, Sherlock’s legs nearly buckle. Catching himself, he whines and whimpers, coherence lost to the sudden ecstasy ripping through him at one light touch. 

“Ah, yes, yes, _yes,_ Captain, _yes.”_ He shakes his head, uncaring that he’s hardly making sense. “More, more, please, oh, fuck, please, _more.”_ John grins against his neck, and his hand circles Sherlock’s slender width, making Sherlock’s eyes roll back. Heat floods through him, followed by an unexpected lightning shiver, his knees shaking with the effort to remain upright. 

“You’re so responsive,” John muses wondrously. “How are you _so_ responsive? It’s…” he reaches for the words, mouthing at Sherlock’s neck and licking trickling sweat. “It’s absolutely stunning, you’re stunning.” Lifting his lips to Sherlock’s ear, he whispers, “I’m going to _take you apart.”_

Sherlock’s hips buck in response, a low cry escaping his mouth. John’s grip tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens, hand sliding quickly over his length from root to tip. Sherlock steels himself for the plunge when he feels himself beginning to climb, body rushing toward orgasm after being made to ache for so long. He shuts his eyes tightly, biting into his lip in preparation. His muscles clench and his balls draw up, cock leaking a constant trail of fluid from the tip. Behind his closed eyes, everything begins to fade into white. He opens his mouth, ready to voice the shout building in his throat, an echo of the heat rising at the base of his spine.

John’s hand disappears, sending Sherlock crashing back from the edge with a desolate cry. 

“Captain!” he yelps, eyes flying open, dark and anguished. “No! No, please!” 

Looking at him, lids half-open and tongue peeking out from his lips, John grins. “Beg for it. Go on, private. Tell me how bad you want it. Maybe— _maybe_ —I’ll let you come.” 

Staring at him, mouth wide with shock, Sherlock shivers. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out, body humming with the adrenaline of his denied orgasm. When he still remains silent, John tilts up and grips his bottom lip between his teeth, tugging lightly until Sherlock groans deep in his chest. 

“Did you hear me? I said _beg for it.”_ His hand closes over Sherlock again. Sherlock’s hips stutter, body coming back to life with a string of muted curses before he slips into pleas.

“Please let me cum, Captain,” he begs, imploring. “I’ll never defy you again, I promise. If you just—if you just let me cum, I swear, I’ll be good, oh god, I’ll be so good. I’ll lick your boots, I’ll suck your cock, I’ll do anything, Captain Watson. Just...just...just let me—” Sherlock’s words cut out at the feeling of John’s hand closing around him, tugging root to tip in a quick, hard pull. “Yes! Oh, yes! _YES,_ Captain Watson, yes yes yes please please please.” Everything merges into a mess of consonants, vowels and syllables, John coaxing his body back to the edge. 

Sherlock teeters, every muscle rigid with expectation, eyes wide and fearful that John will do it again. That he won’t let him cum, that he’ll bring him back from the edge, but then he’s falling, tipping over, screaming muffled worship behind the hand John presses over his mouth. He is cumming, cumming, spilling inside his pants, darkening the material, not caring that he’ll be sticky after. All he cares about is how his mind goes blank, how his entire frame spasms with the force of his release, John guiding him through the waves of pleasure with gentle, soothing strokes. 

Finally spent, he collapses against John’s chest, John’s arm around his waist the only thing keeping him upright. 

“John,” he pants, still seeing spots when he opens his eyes. _“Johnnn.”_ His cock, sensitized and softening, twitches in John’s grip and Sherlock groans, long and low and broken, his voice rough from taking John’s cock.

John presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of his jaw, rubbing gently over his back, Sherlock still twitching with sporadic aftershocks. “I think you learned your lesson, hmm, private?” 

Sherlock nods and falls limp. He feels borderline comatose from the oxytocin washing through him. “Yessir,” he breathes, swallowing weakly. Chuckling, John helps him do up his trousers, guiding him back toward the sidewalk with an arm around his waist once Sherlock’s legs begin working again. 

“Good lad,” John replies, shooting him a grin as they clear the alley mouth. “Let’s get you home.”

Looking at him, at the man standing sturdy at his side, Sherlock blinks, nodding slowly, John’s words taking on a startling new meaning as he stares at the soldier. “Yes,” he says, throat suddenly tight, lips tingling with the force of his shuddering breath, “Take me home.”


End file.
